Where the Heart is
by lionesseyes13
Summary: Having trouble adapting to Archenland, Cor says something terrible to Aravis. Will she ever forgive him? Oneshot. From Lune's POV. Rated for T for mentions of Aravis' earlier attempt at suicide.


Where the Heart is

King Lune stepped into the courtyard of his palace and beamed at the sight of his firstborn Cor fencing with Aravis. Settling onto a stone bench to watch the fray, he remembered his own childhood sparring matches with his lifelong friends, Dar and Darrin. Fixated on their duel, Aravis and Cor did not notice his arrival. Their intense focus reminded Lune all the more of his youthful sparring matches, as did the banter Cor and Aravis traded with every strike.

"You're so slow that even a snail goes by you in a blur," shouted Aravis, leaping forward and launching a fierce attack on Cor's right.

"At least I'm not so ugly that my face is my greatest weapon," Cor retorted, deflecting the hit, lunging at Aravis' left side, and finding his sword blocked by hers.

"Judging by the weakness of your tongue and sword, you don't have any weapons at all," panted Aravis, her eyes gleaming as Cor struggled to untangle their weapons. She pushed down harder on his sword. Cor's fingers loosened under the pressure, and the sword dropped from his hands.

Glaring at her in pain and wounded pride, Cor rubbed the strained and aching fingers that had released his weapon. Lune was striding forward to clasp his son's shoulder and suggest a cold glass of water when Cor, his face flushed with the shame of defeat and streaming with exhausted sweat, snapped, "I hate you, Aravis, and I wish you had killed yourself before I had to go through the pain of meeting you."

"Cor!" Lune rumbled, using his older son's name as a reprimand for the first time since they had been reunited. Crimson cheeks abruptly turning pale, Cor spun around to face his father as Lune ordered crisply, "To your room now. I'll be there in a little while to discuss your behavior with you."

"Yes, sir." Cor ducked his head and fled back into the castle.

"Aravis," Lune said gently as soon as Cor had left the courtyard. "I apologize for Cor's utterly inappropriate and insensitive comment. You will have a sincere apology from him within the hour, I assure you."

"It's my fault," answered Aravis softly, returning her sword to her scabbard, still wearing a rather stunned expression because of Cor's cruel remark. "I pushed too hard. I forgot that the line between a joke and an insult isn't taught to those reared by poor fishermen in Calormen."

"You understand, of course, my dear, that Cor doesn't want you dead." Impulsively, Lune clutched Aravis' sweaty hand.

"Certainly." Aravis offered a peculiar, half-moon smile. "He was willing to die to save me when we weren't even friends. His actions speak far louder than his words, as one of the less verbose poets pointed out so astutely."

"And you will never again attempt to take your own life?" Lune pressed, determined that this girl, who had swiftly become like a third child to him, would not commit suicide under his watch.

"Not now that I know my life belongs to Aslan and not to me." Aravis lifted her chin. "He holds my life in His Paws. I live for Him, and He decides when my days here are done."

"You are a wise young lady." Lune patted her shoulder. "And your courage is always admirable."

"I thank you for giving me a home." Aravis stood on tiptoe to bestow a quick daughter's kiss on his cheek. "I'll be practicing my archery if Cor needs to find me."

Nodding his understanding, Lune followed the path his elder son had taken out of the sunny courtyard into the pleasant shade and cool of a castle corridor. His mind swirled as it stopped thinking about Aravis and tried to focus on Cor instead. Disciplining Cor would be difficult; he had known that from the moment he had laid eyes on the boy after Rabadash's defeat and realized that his long lost child had been restored to him at last. Yet, it wouldn't be fair—and a king and a father must be just—to either of his sons to indulge Cor anymore than he did Corin. He would have to be firm, remembering that there would be other times for joking and hugging. The heir to his throne was not going to believe it was acceptable to go around telling people that they should have killed themselves ages ago.

Straightening his spine and hardening his heart, Lune opened the door to Cor's bedroom. To his astonishment, his son was prostrated, forehead pressed against the floor, plainly awaiting a vicious thrashing.

"Cor." Lune hoped that the sound of his proper name would remind Cor that he wasn't the abused ward of a Calormene fisher any longer. When Cor remained in the same posture, Lune added, wondering what he had ever done to make his older son believe he was a monster, "Arise, my child. I'm not going to beat you or hurt you like the Calormene fisherman."

"Yes, Father." Obediently, Cor pushed himself to his feet, keeping his gaze riveted on the floor.

"Look me in the eyes, son." Lune tilted Cor's chin up, so that the boy's wide eyes met his serious glance. "Even if you are ashamed of your behavior—as well you should be—it's disrespectful not to meet my eyes."

"I wasn't trying to be rude, Father." Cor tried and failed to blink back the moisture that flooded his eyes at his father's words. "In Calormene, it's not humble or polite to look into the eyes of the superior scolding you."

"In Archenland, it's the opposite," explained Lune, asking himself, not for the first time, how different body language in Calormen was from body language in Archenland. "You seem dishonest and uninterested when you don't look at the person talking to you, whether a superior or an inferior."

"Everything is so different here." Cor's lower lip trembled. "I'll never learn all the rules of politeness a prince is supposed to know."

"Not with that attitude you won't," chided Lune, giving his son's shoulders a tiny shake. "Giving up before you begin isn't how brave people in Calormen or Archenland act, though, and I expect you to be brave, Cor."

"Yes, sir." Cor nodded and his mouth set, lip ceasing its trembling. "I'll learn."

"Indeed, you will," Lune agreed sternly, wishing that he could hug his boy against his chest instead of lecture him, but that wasn't how fathers raised moral sons in Archenland or in Calormen. "The first lesson you will learn is to never tell someone that you wish they had committed suicide. No matter how much you dislike a person or how much they irritate you, you are never to say such a terrible thing to them. Understand?"

"Yes, Father." Cor was all earnestness. "Truly, I'm sorry for what I said to Aravis. It just popped out because I was tired and embarrassed, but I would never want her to kill herself, and I would die to save her."

"You can tell her that when you apologize to her." Lune's eyes pierced into his son. "When we are finished with our conversation, you will be giving Aravis a sincere apology, and I'll be listening to ensure that it is sincere."

"I'll give her the apology I owe her." Cor's rapid agreement to suffering the humiliation of apologizing to Aravis, whom he was always insulting, assured Lune that his son was genuinely repentant for his earlier callous words.

Deciding to bring his rebuke to an end, Lune concluded, "You are fortunate, my son, that Aravis is strong enough mentally and emotionally to not take your suggestion seriously, but many of the miserable, confused souls who consider committing suicide are disturbed enough to take the advice of anyone who tells them to end their own existences. Suicide is a crime against Aslan, so you would be encouraging a person to commit a twisted murder motivated by dreadful self-loathing. Aslan would hold you accountable for prompting them to do such a terrible, final thing."

"I didn't think about that at all!" Cor gasped. "I've got to apologize to Aslan when He comes here again."

"He's here right now, ready to listen to you if you want to talk to Him," Lune said, shocked to realize that he had not thought to teach Cor how to pray as he had instructed Corin as soon as Corin could speak in words rather than odd noises.

"Where?" Forehead knotting in bewilderment, Cor glanced around his bedroom, which was empty except for the two of them.

"Aslan is everywhere, so He is here, even when we can't see Him. He is especially present in our hearts." Lune tapped Cor's chest. "I can show you how to talk to Him in a special way."

"Yes, please!" Cor exclaimed.

"It's done like so." Lune closed his eyes and extended his arms, palms upward. "Aslan, I thank You again for returning my beloved firstborn to me in Your boundless mercy and generosity. Grant me the wisdom to guide him on the path to virtue and to lead him ever nearer to you." Then, his prayer ended, he lowered his hands, opened his eyes, and returned his attention to Cor. "That's all you have to do. There's nothing complicated about it."

"I really can apologize right now to Aslan for what I said to Aravis?" Cor cocked his head inquisitively, sounding amazed that this was the case.

"Of course." Lune squeezed Cor's shoulder. "I can give you a moment's privacy if you would like. I understand that prayer can be personal."

"You can hear what I've got to say to Aslan, Father." With that, Cor closed his eyes and held out his hands in the position Lune had assumed a minute ago, saying, "Aslan, in Your love and mercy, forgive me for telling Aravis to kill herself. I'm so grateful that You created her and brought her into my life. I would die trying to keep her alive, and I just want us to do Your will always, because we are Yours."

His eyes opening again, Cor announced, "I'm ready to apologize to Aravis now, too."

"Wonderful." Lune ruffled his son's hair, deciding the time for severity had passed. "In the future, I hope you will come up with cleverer ways of flirting with dear Aravis, Cor."

"I wasn't flirting with Aravis," protested Cor, his nose wrinkling instinctively at the very notion. "I'd flirt with a poisonous toadstool first."

"If you can say such a thing in three years' time, I'll change my crown for a chef's cap." Lune laughed, feeling his entire belly quake with mirth. Once his amusement with his now scowling child faded, he continued more soberly, "Let's go down to the archery yard. Aravis is practicing there."

Obediently, Cor accompanied his father to the archery yard, where Aravis was firing arrow after arrow into the center of her target.

"I'm sorry, Aravis," Cor burst out as soon as they reached her. "I didn't mean what I said about you killing yourself. You're the best friend I've got in Archenland, you know."

"I know." Aravis stopped shooting long enough to give him a slight grin. "You're the best friend I've got in Archenland and in Calormen, too. Two such disagreeable people as ourselves could only be friends with one another, naturally."


End file.
